


No Coming Back From Too Far

by ElysiumsFalling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysiumsFalling/pseuds/ElysiumsFalling





	No Coming Back From Too Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daedalius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daedalius/gifts).



Marcus watched from behind the bar as Oliver danced. He had some new guy pressed up against him, bodies grinding from chest to hip. The man’s hand was on Oliver’s hip, one finger caught in a belt loop and Marcus wondered what it would feel like to break each and every one of the guy’s fingers. He was no one important after all. No one Oliver would see more than once or twice. That was just Oliver’s pattern. He didn’t do relationships. Didn’t do serious. He was married to his quidditch career. 

It didn’t stop Marcus from hating every new fuck that Oliver brought home though.

Their friendship was an oddity. It wasn’t something that Marcus had ever anticipated. They’d hated each other in school. Or rather, Marcus had lusted after Oliver and hated him because of it. Oliver was Marcus’ first crush. He was the first thing that Marcus had ever really wanted. Oliver had been a self-righteous Gryffindor though and Slytherins didn’t mix with Gryffindors. 

And yet… Marcus had still lusted after him. He’d fantasized about Oliver, touched himself to the thought of the other boy’s hands on him, and each time he’d climaxed, it had left him more and more bitter. He’d grown so bitter in fact, that the only thing that brought him any pleasure at all was making Oliver suffer as much as he did.

Life after Hogwarts had been strange. Marcus had floundered for a while, uncertain of what he wanted to do with his life. The only thing he’d ever been good at was quidditch, but he’d not been good enough to be picked up professionally. Oliver had of course. His rival had gotten picked up by Puddlemere United and Marcus had hated him more for it. Wood was living the life and Marcus was relegated to nothing more than a bad memory. If he was lucky. Truthfully, he’d expected that Oliver had forgotten about him completely.

Then the war had begun and life as they knew it had been turned on its head. Marcus had played his part. His family had followed the Dark Lord out of fear, but Marcus hadn’t killed anyone. He’d barely even fought. In truth, he’d cowered at the back of the rank and file and simply tried to stay alive. 

As it turned out, Oliver had seen him there. He’d watched Marcus defend rather than attack and it was because of that, that years later when Oliver happened upon the wizarding club that Marcus was working in, they’d struck up a sort of tentative friendship. Oliver became a regular at the club. He’d come and drink when his schedule allowed it and Marcus would serve him drinks and watch as the other patrons fawned all over him.

Marcus convinced himself that he’d moved on from his childhood obsession with Oliver. He’d even managed to start up a relationship and for a while, it seemed serious. So serious, in fact, that Marcus had moved in with the guy. They’d been too alike though, both short-tempered and strong-willed. Their fights had been epic and they’d been evenly matched. 

Oliver kept his distance during that time. He’d flat out told Marcus that the relationship was bad and they’d fought over it. They’d screamed and shoved at each other, a hint of their old rivalry slipping in through the cracks and Marcus had lashed out. He’d punched Oliver in anger, wands had been drawn, and Oliver had kicked him out of his life.

And despite it all, when Marcus had shown up on Oliver’s doorstep months later, bloodied and bruised and essentially homeless, Oliver hadn’t thought twice about it. He’d taken Marcus in and they’d fallen right back into their weird, impossible friendship.

Marcus continued tending bar, Oliver’s quidditch career only intensified when he moved up from reserve Keeper to lead, and the longer Marcus stayed, the closer he came to admitting that the feelings he’d thought he’d buried were still there. He wanted Oliver. Needed him. Always had.

* * *

The longer the night wore on, the drunker Oliver got. He was punishing himself. They’d lost a game. The game. A game that could have sent them to the Quidditch World Cup. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault that they’d lost. The other team had simply played a better game and their seeker had caught the snitch. Oliver still blamed himself though. He was always harder on himself than anyone else.

“Another!” Oliver called out a little too loudly over the music, his palm smacking the bar top a few times. The line of heat against his back told him that his new friend was pressed in close behind him. The bloke’s hands were on Oliver’s hips, fingers digging in through the denim of Oliver’s jeans.

Marcus set aside the glass he’d been cleaning and leaned in against the bar, hands bracing him on either side. “Why don’t you slow down a little,” he suggested. “You’ve had a lot.”

Oliver smacked his palm against the bar again, indignant at the suggestion that he’d had too much. His body swayed back into his companion’s and then forward. “Oh piss off, Marcus! I’m fine!”

“Ollie,” Marcus began but Oliver pressed in closer, practically bending himself over the bar to get in Marcus’ face. 

“I said…” he drawled slowly, trying hard not to let his words slur, “give me another.” He was there to drink and he was going to be damned if he’d let Marcus cut him off this early.

It was still early wasn’t it? Surely they hadn’t been there that long.

The hands on his hips snaked up to his stomach, fingers pressing in beneath the hem of his shirt, and Oliver groaned a little at the skin on skin contact. Marcus glared at him, dark eyes shifting from Oliver to the guy behind him and then back again. For a second, Oliver felt a pang of guilt. Marcus was just trying to look out for him and Oliver was being a shit.

If he was honest with himself, there was also a bit of satisfaction wrapped up with the guilt. Since they’d known each other, Oliver couldn’t remember a time that Marcus had brought anyone serious around save for Alistair and Alistair had been a royal prick. Marcus didn’t even really do a lot of one night stands. Seeing Marcus’ eyes go dark at the sight of Oliver’s plus one though, it gave Oliver’s ego a boost. Jealousy wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d find attractive, but to see it in Marcus’ eyes, aimed at him, made Oliver’s blood heat.

When Marcus still didn’t move, Oliver’s companion spoke up. “What are you his fucking mum?” the guy sneered. “Just get the fucking drinks!”

The shift in Marcus’ eyes was instant. Gone was the concern and mild annoyance. Gone was the dark hint of jealousy. Marcus’ gaze was cold and deadly. It was a look that scared Oliver. It always had. Ever since they were boys.

“Just give us another round, Marcus!” Oliver interjected, pressing forward again in hopes of drawing his flatmate’s attention back to him. Marcus’ temper was volatile and he knew the man had no qualms about coming over the bar at someone. “Please.”

Marcus did look back to him, and while the emptiness in his gaze was gone, he was still clearly angry. He moved away from them long enough to retrieve their drinks and then returned, practically slamming them down on the bar in front of them.

“Enjoy,” Marcus growled and Oliver’s stomach did somersaults at the tone. They’d fight about this later. He knew they would.

Marcus moved away from them again, this time down the length of the bar to Samara, the other bartender working that night. He said something to her, she nodded, and he shot one last look at Oliver before walking away.

Oliver watched him leave, probably heading out back to take his break. That little sliver of guilt twisted in his gut again, but Oliver pushed it away. As much as he hated upsetting Marcus, he was there to drown his sorrows and no one, not even Marcus, was going to stop him. He’d make it up to the man later. 

* * *

Marcus took a long drag off his cigarette and tried to soothe his frayed nerves. Oliver messed with his calm. The man made Marcus crazy, made him think things he shouldn’t. The thought of that guy, that fucking nobody, touching Oliver made Marcus’ stomach churn. Why did he need that shit? Why did he need some random dick in his bed? Couldn’t he see that Marcus was right there? Didn’t he know that Marcus would happily give him everything he needed and more?

The more he thought about it, the more worked up he got. Marcus paced as he smoked, his free hand closing into a fist and then flexing open as he moved.

His agitated brain supplied images of Oliver and the redhead together - the man’s hands on Oliver, touching him, stroking him, making Oliver scream. It made Marcus’ vision blur. He knew what Oliver sounded like when he was being fucked. Knew what he sounded like when he was doing the fucking. He’d heard him through the walls of their flat on nights when the other man had been too drunk or careless to put up soundproofing charms.

Marcus paced faster, his blood pressure rising. 

“Stupid fuck,” he growled, his growing rage spilling over at the fabricated images of Oliver on his hands and knees, mouth open, moaning as the redhead plowed him from behind.

Marcus growled louder, reared back and slammed his fist forward into the brick wall beside the back door. The throbbing pain of impact ripped up his arm and Marcus’ eyes rolled shut. The pain took the edge off. It calmed him. Centered him.

He flexed his aching hand a few times, reveling in the hurt, then tossed his cigarette away and pulled out his wand. He’d gotten good with simple healing spells over the years. It had become a necessity.

Once his hand was healed, Marcus tucked his wand away and slipped back inside. As luck would have it, he spotted Oliver’s redhead ducking into the loo. Marcus stopped. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d scared off one of Oliver’s paramours. This guy though, Marcus wanted to do more than scare him. He wanted to hurt him.

With a glance towards the bar, Marcus changed course and slipped into the loo. He’d be damned if he’d let this little prick lay hands on Oliver ever again.

* * *

The strobing lights of the dancefloor made Oliver’s vision swim. Everything was floating, spinning too fast and he swayed a little on his feet. His companion had excused himself to the loo, but he’d been gone a while and Oliver’s drunken high was fading a little. It was no fun standing there by himself.

When he turned back to the bar, Marcus had reappeared. He was standing with Samara again and Oliver squinted as they both looked in his direction. Samara pressed a hand to Marcus’ chest and Oliver squinted harder. He wondered if they were sleeping together. Samara was pretty. She was dark and exotic and wore too tight outfits that showed off her ample curves. She also had a huge thing for Marcus. Every chance she got she was with him or near him and Oliver found her to be slightly annoying. Beautiful, but annoying. 

Oliver scrubbed at his face and looked off in the direction of the loo. Colm? Carter? His companion, whatever his name was, was certainly taking his time and Oliver was growing restless.

He was so preoccupied with staring off towards the back of the club that the strong hand suddenly closing around his arm made him jump. Oliver looked up to find Marcus standing next to him.

The taller man leaned down over him, lips all but brushing the shell of Oliver’s ear. “I’m taking you home.”

Completely against his will, Oliver shivered.

“Um, no,” Oliver replied with a shake of his head. “You’re working and I’m not ready to go. And even if I were, I have an escort. Thanks.”

Marcus’ grip flexed around Oliver’s arm. “It’s a slow night and my shift is over,” Marcus corrected. “And your  _ escort _ isn’t here.”

Oliver blinked up at him, lips parted for a retort, but something in Marcus’ face told him that there would be no arguing.

“What’s your deal tonight?” Oliver grumbled as he slid unsteadily off his stool. “You’ve been in a mood since we left the flat.”

Marcus ushered him quickly towards the door, Oliver stumbling over his feet more than once as they went.

“Maybe I’m just sick of watching you whore yourself out every time you’re home,” Marcus snapped when they’d made it out the front door.

“I’m sorry, what?” Oliver snarled back, unsteady on his feet but not so much that he couldn’t whirl on Marcus the second those words left his mouth.

Marcus’ wand was in his hand and though he looked mildly annoyed again, the venom with which he’d spat the insult did not reflect in his face. The other man rolled his eyes at Oliver and tugged him closer.

“You heard me,” Marcus drawled flatly and apparated them home before Oliver had the chance to reply.

The simple act of apparating had Oliver losing the contents of his stomach the second they appeared on the footpath in front of their building. He doubled over, gagging and gasping and Marcus waited. 

“Did you seriously call me a whore?” Oliver rasped once the convulsions had ceased and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Marcus arched an eyebrow at him, then turned away and headed for the front door of the building. “Am I wrong?”

He'd had made it into the building and to the lift by the time Oliver managed to stumble to his feet and shuffle after him.

“You’re bloody well right you are!” Oliver yelled, shoving Marcus from behind just as the lift doors opened. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Marcus stumbled forward, growled and then whirled on Oliver as he followed him onto the lift. The larger man’s hands fisted in Oliver’s shirt, yanked him forward, and for a second the world spun as Marcus jerked him around and slammed him into the wall.

Oliver gasped as his back hit the wall. The spike of adrenaline that rushed through him left him a little less drunk and a little more focused on the man pressed against him. Marcus was livid. He was glaring at him, chest heaving, teeth bared.

“I’m the one who gets to listen to your random fucks because you’re always too drunk to think about anyone but yourself!” Marcus snarled. “I’m the one who cleans you up when you fall apart because you lost a fucking game! I’m the one who drags you home to keep you from making a stupid fucking mistake with a piss poor excuse of a man who can’t even begin to know what it is you really need.”

“And what do I need, Marcus?” Oliver bit back. 

Marcus’ grip tightened for a moment, then he slammed Oliver into the wall again before releasing him and turning to jab the button for their floor.

Oliver knew, even through the booze, he should let it go. Marcus was too riled up. He was too angry and when he was angry Marcus lashed out. He couldn’t let it go though. Marcus had crossed a line and Oliver was just as angry now.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” he snarled and shoved Marcus hard from behind. “Tell me what it is you think I need since you seem to bloody well know everything! What does the great Marcus Flint really think of his poor little whore of a flatmate?”

The roar that erupted from Marcus’ lungs made Oliver flinch back from him. He lurched backward, hitting the wall behind him just as Marcus spun around and locked one of his large hands around Oliver’s throat. He slammed Oliver’s head back into the lift wall once, twice, then flexed his grip and backed away. The utter rage in Marcus’ dark eyes left Oliver trembling. 

“Leave it,” Marcus warned as the lift  _ dinged _ and the doors slid open.

Oliver blinked at him, stunned, head ringing. He’d not banged his head hard enough to do any real damage, but it had definitely rung his bell.

Marcus turned then, exited the lift and Oliver had to lunge forward, arm extended to keep the lift door from closing. He followed him into the corridor, hand pressed against the wall for support. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog from not only the alcohol but the knock into the wall. 

Marcus opened the door and Oliver couldn’t have stopped himself if he was sober or if he wanted to. He shoved Marcus into their flat, followed him and slammed the door behind them. “Leave it?” he hissed with venom on his tongue. 

“You can call me a whore, and I’m supposed to leave it?” Oliver and Marcus argued often and truth be told it turned him on. But it had never gotten personal. “Maybe if you could get yourself laid; I wouldn’t seem like such a whore.” Oliver regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. But there they were and he stood his ground. He wasn’t going to back down now. 

Marcus whirled, fist connecting with Oliver’s jaw so hard that it made his whole arm ache. “You don’t know a fucking thing about what I can and can’t do! In fact, how the fuck would you know anything about me besides I serve your fucking drinks when you’re home?”

Oliver lay sprawled out on the floor where he landed. With some effort, he pushed himself to sit. He’d taken some hits in Quidditch that had hurt less. Whether it was his emotions or his pride he was seeing red. He couldn’t feel the alcohol in his system any longer. “You unbelievable, self-righteous, prick!” he yelled and spit the bit of blood in his mouth to the floor. With the back of his hand, he wiped away the remnants. 

He pushed himself off the floor and lunged at Marcus, tackling him. He hadn’t even thought of pulling his wand. If Marcus wanted a muggle duel, he was ready. 

Marcus rolled into the tackle, taking the brunt of the impact on his shoulder then used the momentum to roll them. If they were good at one thing, it was fighting. Sometimes he thought their whole existence revolved around fighting each other.

His rage was flaring high, burning so hot through his veins that all he wanted to do was inflict pain. He wanted to hurt Oliver the way he was hurting. The way he always hurt when the other man took someone else to his bed that wasn’t him. Marcus got his knees on either side of Oliver’s hips and pushed himself up with a growl, fist drawn back to deliver another blow.

Oliver glared and readied himself for the blow. “Fucking do it!” He yelled. “Show me that you can do more than _serve_ me.” The words were like acid. He’d never felt so angry and fuck all if he wasn’t a bit hard. 

Something unfathomable reared its ugly head in Marcus’ mind and instead of letting his fist fly again, he reached down to grip Oliver’s jaw, fingers pressing unforgivingly into flesh and bone. 

“Oh I’ll do more than serve you,” he hissed, fingers digging in hard enough to force the other man’s jaw open wide. With his free hand, Marcus yanked at the button and zip of his jeans. “I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been aching for. A cock to go in that greedy little mouth of yours.”

The small bit of erection he’d felt faded. Marcus wasn’t really going to… Oliver’s eyes went wide and he tried to push at Marcus. But when he saw the man’s large cock swollen and hard he stopped pushing and punched Marcus in the side. “Fuck off!” 

Marcus grunted at the impact, doubling over slightly, his hand at Oliver’s jaw dropping to the floor to keep him from falling forward completely. The pain was minor but the blow had caught him off guard. A second blow connected to the same spot and Marcus roared. He jerked back and lashed out, the back of his hand landing hard and whip-quick across Oliver’s face.

Sparks ignited in Oliver’s vision and his eyes began to water. His jaw was already tender and the last hit sent him reeling. Copper flooded his mouth and he tried to glare up at Marcus. “Is that all you got?” he slurred. 

Marcus leaned in close, chest heaving, eyes cold. “We’re only just starting,” he promised and reached out to fist one hand in Oliver’s hair. 

He grabbed Oliver’s jaw again with his other hand, fingers digging into pressure points until his flatmate’s mouth opened. There’d be bruises later and the thought of it sent a slight thrill through him. Marcus wanted to mark him, brand Oliver in any way possible.

The second those lips were spread wide enough, Marcus altered his grip. The hand in Oliver’s hair twisted tighter, yanked back while Marcus gripped the lower part of Oliver’s jaw and held it open, preventing the man from biting him.

He shifted forward, aching cock framed by the opened folds of his jeans. “I’m going to fuck that infuriating mouth of yours just like all the other random fucks you bring home,” Marcus huffed, breathly already from just the thought of it. 

“Maybe then…” Marcus gasped as he pushed home, the wet heat making his eyes roll, “ I can finally see what the fucking attraction is.”

The taste of Marcus’ cock flooded his mouth as he pushed into him. Oliver squirmed and his hands scratched at his flatmate's arms. He gagged as thick flesh pushed down his throat. Just as he felt ready to suffocate Marcus pull back enough for him to gasp for air. Before he could try to utter a word his mouth was filled once more. 

This couldn’t be happening. Oliver had wanted Marcus to fuck him. He’d flirted and tried to send signals to let the man know he wanted him. But Marcus never made a move, and he chalked it up to him not being interested. This was not how it was supposed to happen. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt the water seep from the corners and tried to pretend this was a nightmare. 

Marcus pushed in deeper, lost to the tight sensation of Oliver’s throat constricting around him. It was heaven. He thrust and thrust, caught in the twisted realization that there was no way he was going to stop. He couldn’t stop. Not now.

His fingers tightened in Oliver’s hair and pulled, tilted Oliver’s head until Marcus could thrust and thrust and thrust. He fucked his throat, hips pistoning even as Oliver gagged around him, choking, drool leaking down his chin. 

“Fuck your mouth, Oliver,” he groaned. “So good. Should’ve done this ages ago.”

Oliver choked and tried to form words. Tried to tell him to stop. Wanted to tell him that he could have him just not like this. But the mouthful of Marcus made it impossible. The world started to spin and he had to do something. Something that could stop this and maybe salvage them. He thrust his hips up, weakly at first and then harder and felt his teeth graze Marcus’ cock as he was dislodged from his mouth. 

“No,” he said, though his throat was raw and the word was lost in the grunts they both were making. 

Marcus had doubled forward again, hips drawn back from the harsh scrape of teeth against his cock. His anger flared and without thinking he backhanded Oliver again. He grabbed Oliver’s head with both hands and slammed it down hard against the floor, hard enough that Oliver’s eyes rolled back into his head.

With the man gone limp beneath him, Marcus pushed himself up and back. He fumbled with Oliver’s belt, then yanked at the button and zip once he’d gotten it unfastened. Part of him wanted to go down on him. He wanted to taste Oliver, roll him on his tongue and lick at him until he was full and hard and willing to participate. This was what he’d been after at the club, after all, someone to fuck him senseless.

Marcus yanked and tugged until he had Oliver’s trousers and underwear around his ankles, then he rolled him onto his stomach.

Oliver was somewhere else. In a time where he had been with a man he’d longed for. He was being kissed and caressed, and everything was just as he’d wanted it to be. Marcus. How long had he wanted him? Since they’d become flatmates? No, it was before then. The fog faded around the edges and he was brought back to reality. 

He was face down on the floor, Marcus was there… he was spreading his ass cheeks. Oliver tried to speak but it was no use. His throat was raw and he could taste blood not only in his mouth but down his throat. He felt the thick head of Marcus’ cock at his entrance. “Please,” he rasped the ‘s’ drawing out but he was unable to form the word stop. 

Marcus leaned in over him, spit-slick and ready to go. He pressed at Oliver’s entrance, one hand around his cock for guidance, the other clamped tight around Oliver’s bare hip.

“Is that how you begged them, Oliver?” he grunted as he forced himself in past the tight ring of Oliver’s body. “Because this is how I always pictured you.”

Marcus pushed in and in, caught in the deafening roar of Oliver’s denial and a wave of tight heat and painful friction that made his vision blur. He bent further over him, the hand that was around his cock now bracing him against the floor. The fact that he was fully seated inside of Oliver’s body made his heart ache and race all at once.

“When I had to listen to you fuck all those nameless assholes.” Marcus pulled his hips back, guiding his cock from Oliver’s body despite the other man’s pained wails. Just when he was in danger of slipping from the hot cradle altogether, Marcus slammed himself home again and it made his head spin.

Oliver screamed. The sound was pitiful and weak but it was so very loud in his mind. He felt ripped open, raw and exposed in a way he’d never felt before. Normally he would love being fucked by such a large cock, in fact when he went down on a guy he measured the size of him and decided if he would top or bottom. The cock tearing into him felt enormous. He knew part was the lack of prep or lubrication, but he had seen the size of the man and he was above average. 

Hard thrusts brought scream after scream until his throat just refused to make any more sound. He was left with whimpers and pained moans. The world swam and part of him wanted to try to fight one more time but another part of his mind said that sleep was a much better option. Fog ate at his vision through the blur of tears. 

Something about Oliver’s growing silence ate at Marcus. He wanted him to scream. Wanted him to fight and push against him. He wanted Oliver complicit in all of the twisted, fucked up tragedy that was this night. 

His hips pistoned harder drawing less and less pained whimpers, but he couldn’t stop. Marcus fucked himself into Oliver so hard that the other man skidded forward and Marcus had to grab one of Oliver’s shoulders to yank him back. The sensation sent a sharp slice of pleasure tearing through him and he repeated the action. Marcus slammed forward as he yanked Oliver back and all too soon he found him chasing an end that had come too quickly.

Pain, hot and sharp tore a gasp from Oliver and was the last sliver to send him over an edge he had been teetering on for more than a few moments. He slipped out of consciousness and into that blissful nothing where none of this had happened. 

Marcus tensed, his loud moan of blissful pleasure echoing around the otherwise quiet room as he emptied himself inside the prone body beneath him. Oliver had become pliant and soft. His body had loosened around him but had gone terrifyingly still. 

The high didn’t last long. Marcus slipped from Oliver’s body with a choked grunt and the crash of devastating reality. He rolled to his back, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as his body and mind warred through the afterglow.

This was hell. He’d finally lost his fucking mind and this was his own, personal hell. Marcus turned his head to look at the man next to him. Oliver looked pained and broken even in unconsciousness.

He dropped his hand to his chest as a tear rolled down across his temple and into his hair. “Remember that day everyone warned you about?” he whispered. Because they’d all told Oliver that Marcus would hurt him. And hey… they were right.

Slowly, Marcus pulled himself up from the floor and carefully righted his clothing and tucked himself away. He felt sick at the sight of what he’d done. Rage wasn’t an excuse for this. Neither was jealousy. Marcus was just sick. He was fucked in the head and everyone had known it but the two of them.

Hand shaking, he retrieved his wand and aimed it at Oliver. He could leave things as they were. Let Oliver hate him. Spend the rest of his life locked up in Azkaban. It was what he deserved. And yet, Marcus couldn’t stomach the thought of it. He was a coward in every sense of the word and having Oliver hate him, to have him loathe the sight of him, it was more punishment than he could take.

Part of him wanted to take the time to clean Oliver up gently and try to mend at least one small, miniscule part of what he’d broken. Marcus wasn’t sure how long Oliver would be out though and his now functioning brain was teetering on the cusp of panic.

He whispered a few quick cleaning and healing spells, then crouched down and brushed his fingers through Oliver’s hair before righting the man’s clothes. 

“I’m sorry, Ollie,” he said softly. His thumb brushed along the shell of Oliver’s ear and more tears threatened to fall. “You should have never let me in.”

Marcus stood again, hand gripped so tightly around his wand that he half-feared he’d break it. “Obliviate,” he incanted quietly. 

Oliver wouldn’t remember tonight. Or any other night they’d spent together. Marcus would simply be gone from his mind, consigned to nothing more than faded memories of two boys at Hogwarts and a childhood rivalry.

He packed quickly then; tucked away his few meager possessions into a single bag and wiped any trace of himself from the flat completely. He stopped at Oliver’s side again, desperate to touch, but instead, he took one last look before leaving and locking the door behind him.

It wasn’t the punishment that most would say he deserved, but Marcus knew he could create a far worse hell for himself than any prison could do. And leaving Oliver behind was the only way he knew how to start.


End file.
